Editorial
Front Page - Friday, November 12, 2010
Southern Style
The Leaves of Change
Randall Franks
As a cold wind blew across Grandma Kitty’s front porch, she knew that winter was not far away.
She swept the bright yellow leaves from the old maple tree planted by Grandpa’s own Grandpa off into the yard.
“I wish he would have put that a little farther from the house,” she said as she paused and stared at the shell of the tree.
Months earlier she rested in the shadow of its lush green foliage, taking shelter from the bright yellow rays of the sun as she broke long string beans for canning.
In the valley below the Gravelly Spur, as the cold winds began to blow, there almost came a sense of dread and hurry upon all the faces around the valley.
Except for the “Farmer’s Almanac,” folks had little notion of how harsh the weather ahead might be. In order to be prepared, effort once spent concentrating on putting out and taking in crops now had to be focused on human and animal survival.
Is there enough firewood to cook and keep the family warm through months of harsh, snowy weather?
Are there enough canned goods in the root cellar and meat in the smokehouse? What about hay for the animals?
It was on one of Grandpa Bill’s trips to make sure the family would have enough to make it through that he felt in his bones what would be a big storm.
He, young Pearl, and Clovis, one of his hired hands, got in the old Ford truck and headed up the Gravelly Spur to harvest a large load of firewood. The mountain roads to the far side of the mountain were treacherous, and one missed turn of the wheel could send you careening down the mountainside.
The trio planned a full day there and had taken enough food for lunch and afternoon snack. As the day progressed, Clovis and Grandpa Bill took the two-man saw and cut up dead tree after dead tree. Pearl gathered smaller pieces and loaded them as the pair worked.
What started as a beautiful day had turned gray by lunch, and the winter winds began to turn their cheeks bright red.
“I have a feeling we better start heading back,” Bill said. “Let’s get finished up.”
As the last stick of wood was placed on the truck, snow as thick as locusts began to fall.
The mountaintop quickly became a field of white, and the road, which was there minutes before, was no longer visible.
Grandpa Bill turned the key on the truck but nothing happened. The engine would not turn over.
“Dagnabbit,” he exclaimed as he threw open the folding door covering the engine. “What a perfect time for you to get temperamental.”
As he worked on the engine, snow piled higher and higher and drifted against the evergreen and leafless trees.
No matter how he tried he could not get the old truck cranked.
He sat down inside the cab, took off his hat and wiped his brow with his red handkerchief.
After pausing a minute, he said, “Pearly blue, pick up that lunch pail your Mama fixed and pull out those tater sacks from behind the seat.”
“We not going to dig potatoes now are we?” she asked.
“No, we are going to cover some of those ten little ones on the end of your feet there,” he said. “We are going to wrap these sacks around our feet ’cause we have a bit of a walk ahead of us.”
The trio finished their preparation and began their trek down the side of the Gravelly Spur, blinded by the snow and unsure where to make the next step. Grandpa Bill led the way holding tightly to Pearl’s hand with Clovis holding her other hand.
As the snow got deeper, Pearl took one step and found herself seeing nothing but white.
“Dad,” she yelled as his strong arms pulled her from the vacuum of white and placed her on his shoulders.
A few steps more and Bill, Clovis and Pearl found themselves rolling down a small clearing on the side of the mountain. Clovis had misstepped, taking the trio tumbling down the side.
As they reached a stop Clovis lay as still as death. No matter how Bill tried he could not get him to stir, although he was still breathing.
Bill took out his knife and cut some branches. He took the burlap sacks off his and Clovis’ feet and used them to tie the branches together to make a bed to drag Clovis behind him as Pearl rode on his shoulders.
The trio continued their journey with the bite of the cold and snow slowly draining all desires to do anything but sleep.
Bill fought the sand of sleep with all his might, knowing that if he gave in they would all sleep forever. Even into the night Bill forged on knowing that their fates depended on reaching home. As it came into view in the distance, he could see a faint image of Kitty in the window illuminated by the kerosene lamp she placed on the windowsill.
The sight gave him the energy to push harder. As his figure became visible to Kitty through the snow, she flung open the door and raced towards him.
She arrived as his strength seemed to melt away, and she caught Pearl as he fell to the ground.
All of them survived the ordeal that reflected the dread that always seemed to loom over the valley below the Gravelly Spur whenever the leaves began to fall.
Randall Franks is an award-winning musician, singer and actor. He is best known for his role as “Officer Randy Goode” on TV’s “In the Heat of the Night” now on WGN America. His latest CD release, “An Appalachian Musical Revival,” is by www.shareamericafoundation.org. He is a member of the Atlanta Country Music Hall of Fame. He is a syndicated columnist for http://randallfranks.com/ and can be reached at rfrankscatoosa@gmail.com.
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